Stranger Danger
by Mika-chan
Summary: Blaine's performance at the Gap caught more attention than he'd ever wanted.


**Author's Notes:** This was written for a prompt on the glee_angst_meme. I have intentionally ignored the fact that Kurt is not boarding at Dalton because having him commute from Lima just doesn't make sense. Reviews make me happy and more productive :)

Also, please note this story has been **edited** in order to be posted on this site. The **original version** can be found on archiveofourown .org under the username of mikarin.

**WARNINGS**: Sexual abuse of a minor by an adult and drugging of a minor.

* * *

Stranger Danger

When Blaine was five, his kindergarten teacher spent an entire day teaching the class about stranger safety. Who is a stranger? (Everyone who isn't your mom, dad, sister, or brother) How do you tell if someone is lying to you? (Have your parents make up a password for adults you can trust) What do you do if someone takes you away without your permission? (Grab onto the nearest adult and ask for help, or scream like crazy)

The lesson was different and a bit more confusing than learning how to count to twenty or understanding why we celebrated Independence Day. And although Mr. Markham made it fun and the rules easy to remember, Blaine also recalled his teacher raising his voice at Jacob when his friend asked if it was okay to help a stranger look for his pet iguana if not puppies and kittens. Mr. Markham usually smiled at Jacob's jokes. But apparently stranger safety was no laughing matter. It was serious business.

Still, amidst all the talk of what not to do and how to stay safe, no one really explained what to do if the worst happened and you were taken.

Staring up at the water damaged ceiling from the bed he was currently tied to, Blaine would have given anything for that lesson.

oOo

_~If you're going to be in a public venue, be with a friend or a group of friends~_

The Warbler's Gap Attack was going to be awesome. SO awesome, and Jeremiah was going to love it—love _**Blaine**_.

David clapped his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "You ready, man?"

Blaine nodded eyes resolute. "Absolutely."

Wes held up his fist and Blaine bumped it. "Let's do this."

The Warbler's Gap Attack was stupid. SO stupid. _**Blaine**_ was stupid.

"I wouldn't say it was stupid per se." Kurt's voice was contemplative, his arm wrapped in a comforting manner around Blaine's drooping shoulders.

"You said it wouldn't be too much," Blaine groaned into his hands that were currently covering his face.

"I didn't expect you to pay tribute to Robin Thicke, Blaine," Kurt said clearly exasperated before singing, "_You can keep your toys in the drawer tonight_. Really, Blaine? _**Really**_?"

Blaine blushed from his ears all the way down to his neck. Kurt sighed, patting him once more on the shoulder. "Come on, Romeo. Let's get some coffee. My treat."

Blaine lowered his hands and stared morosely at the ground. "With cinnamon?"

Kurt shot him a pitying look. "Sure."

Blaine scuffed his shoe against the concrete. "And a chocolate chip cookie?"

Kurt sighed as he dragged a brooding Blaine up to his feet and directed them to the nearest Lima Bean. "We'll see."

oOo

_~Always tell an adult where you will be~_

The staccato rap of knuckles on wood had Kurt glancing up from his pre-calculus homework to see a smiling Blaine Anderson at the entrance to his dorm room.

"Hey, I'm heading over to Stanton's," Blaine said. "Did you need anything?"

Kurt placed his pencil on his desk, swinging his chair around to face the other fully. "Still can't find your Baroque sheet music?"

Blaine shook his head in the negative. "Not for a lack of trying though and yes, I did clean my..." Here Blaine lifted his hands to make air quotes. "...pigsty of a room to perform a thorough check."

Kurt mimed zipping his lips and shrugged his shoulders in an 'I didn't say anything' fashion. Blaine didn't fall for it in the least.

"So...?"

"No, I'm good," Kurt said. "Did you want any company?"

"No, that's okay," Blaine said. "I know you have a lot of homework this weekend, and I for one will not be enabling your procrastinating ways."

Blaine wagged his finger disapprovingly and Kurt rolled his eyes, ignoring the jibe and asked instead, "See you at dinner then?"

Blaine beamed. "Of course. I'll pick you up at six thirty. Wear something nice, but nothing too fancy. You know, cafeteria nice."

Kurt huffed out a laugh, smiling as he said, "It's a date."

If possible, Blaine's smile widened and a warm, fluttery sensation settled in his stomach. "See you later," he said, hand already pulling Kurt's door shut and the last he saw of Kurt was a fond wave before the other turned back to his homework.

oOo

_~Never accept gifts from strangers~_

"Alan Menken, a closet favorite of mine."

Blaine's eyes rose at the unfamiliar voice and blinked at the man who stood in front of him. The man was several inches taller than Blaine, sported—what Kurt would call—a sad comb over that wasn't fooling anyone, and looked to be in his mid-thirties. His eyes looked kind though and the self-deprecating smile he wore had Blaine admitting, after a moment's hesitation, that the composer was one of his favorites as well, though quite possibly the worst kept secret amongst his friends.

The man, Greg, laughed at that and then proceeded to ask Blaine which of Menken's compositions was his favorite. It was a nice conversation, as one usually was when you found someone who was equally passionate about a shared interest. Still, pleasant conversation or not, the invitation for coffee struck an odd chord with Blaine and he politely declined, saying he had to return to campus as it was close to curfew (it wasn't) and it was nice speaking with him. Blaine smiled a goodbye before he headed to the cashier to pay for his purchases.

The sun was nearly setting as he walked through the parking lot to get to his car. He had just pulled his keys out of his pants pocket when his eyes rose to see Greg calmly staring at him through the reflection of the driver's side window. Blaine jumped in surprise, spinning around to face the other as his heart pounded furiously in his ears.

"Oh, I'm sorry for startling you, but you dropped this." When Greg held out a familiar canary keychain—one that Kurt had jokingly given to him for his birthday last month—Blaine gave himself a mental shake for being so jumpy before reaching out for the item.

"Thanks," he said with a smile as Greg dropped the keychain into his open palm.

"Sure. It was a pleasure, Blaine," Greg said before turning around and walking away.

Blaine sighed and turned back to his car. He cupped the toy canary in his palm, thinking absently that he was watching way too much CSI lately when it occurred to him that he lost this keychain weeks ago.

When Greg approached him for the third time that day, Blaine didn't see him until it was too late.

oOo

~_Never accept rides from strangers~_

Blaine woke to a pounding headache and harsh breathing by his right ear. He opened his eyes and met Greg's blue and not-so-kind ones and he recoiled back only to find his movement was restricted. With growing horror, Blaine found his limbs tied to the four corners of the bed he laid on and he immediately began to pull frantically at his restraints. As the rough cords dug into his wrists and ankles without any signs of loosening, Blaine's breath went ragged with panic. He didn't hear Greg trying to calm him down over his moans of oh God, oh God and he only stilled when a hand covered his mouth.

"That's better," Greg said as Blaine's chest continued to heave and his breath hiccupped behind the man's rough palm. "You need to calm down, Blaine. Nod if you understand." When Blaine didn't move, too scared to, Greg clamped his hand harder across Blaine's mouth and leaned his face closer to the youth. "Nod, Blaine."

Blaine's breath hitched as he nodded frantically, tears spilling down the sides of his face. Greg smiled as he removed his hand, and the sight made Blaine's stomach roll.

"Why are you doing this?" Blaine whispered voice hoarse and shaky. When Greg responded, Blaine shrunk back and the dread he felt multiplied tenfold.

"Because you're amazing. And I'm going to love you. More than that idiotic Gap kid ever could."

oOo

~_Say 'no' if you feel uncomfortable or threatened and get away from that person immediately~_

At first, Greg would just sit and stare at him from across the room. He'd stare for hours and although Blaine was still wearing his uniformed pants and white button down shirt, he still felt as if he were being violated. Blaine refused to meet Greg's gaze, kept his eyes trained to the ceiling and focused on counting the watermarks (eighteen) that mottled the ceiling tiles.

When Greg started touching himself, moaning and saying his name in breathless tones, Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the left side of his head as far as it would go into the pillow he laid on and hummed a random tune brokenly to block out the sounds. Greg's moans only grew in intensity and he told Blaine how angelic he sounded, to please keep singing for him and only him. Blaine didn't utter another word, sung or not; not until Greg touched him...there. And Blaine twisted away as much as he possibly could, saying no, no, no in level tones at first before shouting it and squirming and bucking when Greg tried to hold him down.

Greg stepped away from the bed, breath harsh as he eyed Blaine for a long moment before leaving the room. The relief Blaine felt came in waves and his entire body shook as he tried to catch his breath. His reprieve was short-lived, however, when he felt his jaw being held roughly in place and a cherry, syrupy liquid flowing into his mouth. He sputtered, tried to expel the foreign substance from his mouth, but Greg covered his mouth, pinched his nose shut and refused to let go until Blaine swallowed. Blaine's vision spotted and his head buzzed at the lack of oxygen and he eventually swallowed convulsively. Greg repeated this two more times then sat back and waited.

A half hour passed and Blaine's breathing slowed, his eyes grew half lidded and he felt as if he were floating. When Greg touched him again, Blaine wasn't able to do anything but watch in detached interest.

Hours later when Blaine's mind cleared and the realization of just what happened came crashing down around him, Blaine released a gut-wrenching sob. He didn't know how long he cried for (there were no windows in the room to even begin to tell time), but it was long enough that his eyes dried up and the only sound in the room was his broken cries for someone to help him, to please help him.

oOo

Greg would disappear for hours—Blaine assumed it was so the man could go to work—before returning to get himself and Blaine off. Given Greg's regular comings and goings, Blaine was able to gather that he was here for almost a week. He was taken on a Saturday and he knew the weekend was looming again and dreaded what the man would do given all the extra time weekends implied.

Even in his semi-drugged state, Blaine knew the abuse was escalating and culminating to flat out penetrating rape. Greg was no longer taking turns, but jerking himself and Blaine off at the same time. His touches would linger and his eyes would remain trained below his waist for uncomfortable lengths of time.

Sometimes, Greg would just sit beside him, stroking his hair and smiling fondly down at him. He'd tell Blaine how he'd been watching him ever since their fateful meeting at the Gap. How he'd watched Blaine from the parking lot, laughing and singing his way across campus. How incredible his pillow smelled and that he hoped he didn't mind that he took some of his sheet music. Blaine would always pretend to be asleep during those times despite the fact that all he wanted to do was to throw up or to scream at the sick fuck to shut up, to just shut up.

It was when Greg left him for what seemed to be the night that Blaine noticed it one day. The rope tied around the square bedpost attached to his left wrist was fraying. His breath hitched at the hope that surged through his body and Blaine craned his neck to get a better look. He saw that one of the sides to the metal bedpost was bent, revealing a sharp edge that would snag onto the rope and tear it a little whenever he twisted his wrist.

He glanced down at the bindings at his feet, saw that the twine that wound around the end bedposts was a simple loose loop (Greg hated the time it took to retie him when he brought Blaine back from the bathroom) and could easily be taken off if his hands were free.

He could get out.

Oh God, he could get out.

The relief he felt was surely palpable no matter if no one was there to see it, and Blaine closed his eyes, tried to calm his racing heart and planned.

oOo

Greg was gone for a few hours when Blaine finally shred through the last thread of the rope that held his left wrist captive. He stared at it dumbly for a moment before starting to laugh. He then slid the left side of his body down the bed, kicking his left foot out a couple of times until that limb was free too. When he moved on to his right foot, however, he had a harder time getting loose due to his right arm still being pulled taut above him. No amount of kicking got his right foot free and after a few attempts, he lay there gasping, trying to tamp down on the rising panic that he wouldn't be able to get out after being so close. Or worse yet, having Greg return to find him like this.

Blaine inhaled a few calming breaths then determinedly pulled down as far as his arm would allow towards the end of the bed, slackening the rope by his foot in the process. He then pushed his entire body up and off the bed. The rope lifted off the post and he twisted his body sideways and fell to the floor. He lay there momentarily winded before he pushed and slid himself up towards the head of the bed. His right hand trembled as he pulled the final loop off and Blaine collapsed onto the floor, body racked with relief.

Blaine sat there for another minute or two just breathing before beginning to vigorously massage the feeling back into his legs so that he could walk.

oOo

_~If you need help, look for a police officer, a store clerk, or a mother with children~_

When Blaine stepped out of the house it was to a quaint neighborhood. Houses were spaced evenly apart and trees lined the street every so often. It was maddening, really, how normal it all looked. Blaine turned around to stare at the house he just exited, noted the white panel siding and orange painted shutters before heading down the walkway and across the street.

He didn't encounter anyone as he walked further and further away from the house. The sun blazed down from overhead and he reasoned it must be midday or sometime close to it. He eventually heard laughter and the sound surprised him enough to take a look at his surroundings.

He was standing in front of a park; several children were playing in a sandbox, while others were on the jungle gym or in the middle of a game of tag. He saw a pair of ladies sitting on a park bench a few feet away from him. They were chatting animatedly, although their eyes would every so often glance to the children playing several yards away from them.

"You smell funny."

It took a moment for Blaine to realize the statement was directed at him and he glanced down to see a little girl who looked no older than four staring at him openly. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a white T-shirt that had a smiling sun on it underneath a pair of blue overalls.

"Sorry," he said automatically, taking a step back from the girl, who frowned in return.

"Where are your shoes?"

Blaine glanced down at his feet, saw the lengths of rope that trailed out from the bottoms of his pants and felt a lump rise in his throat. "I don't know," he said vaguely.

"Oh." The girl bit her lip. "Did you lose them? I can help you—"

Blaine didn't hear the rest of her sentence, too focused on the word 'help' to register anything else.

"Is your mom around?" he asked unintentionally interrupting her in mid-sentence, but the girl merely snapped her mouth shut before nodding a tentative yes.

"Would you mind taking me to her?" Blaine asked and to his relief no more than a second passed before the girl agreed and held out her hand. Blaine took it and let the girl lead her to a bench near the back of the park.

A woman, who shared similar features to the girl who was holding his hand, immediately dashed over to her daughter's side upon seeing them. "Jessica!" she said, voice raised, as she grabbed onto her daughter's hand and pulled her a distance away from Blaine. "What did I tell you about strangers?"

"But Mommy, he didn't want to take me away. He wanted to take me to _**you**_. So, he can't be a stranger," the girl, Jessica, reasoned.

"Jessica," her mother said with exasperation before turning her eyes suspiciously to the bedraggled teenager before her. The boy looked awful. His complexion was sickeningly pale and a tremor seemed to run continuously throughout his body.

It was only when her eyes fixated on the ropes that coiled around his wrists that Blaine found his voice to ask, "I'm sorry, but...would you mind if I use your cellphone?"

Jessica's mother's eyes snapped up from his hands to stare at Blaine's face, her brow furrowing.

"I promise it won't be long," Blaine said when she didn't answer immediately, "and it's local—oh. Actually...I'm not sure if it is." Blaine's voice trailed off and his eyes lowered to the ground.

Jessica's mother inhaled a sharp breath. "Oh my—you're that boy. On the amber alert. Oh, God." She let go of her daughter's hand so that she could unzip her purse. She pulled out her phone and held it out to Blaine. "Here," she said before turning to shout over her shoulder. "Martha! Call 911!"

Blaine ignored the rising commotion around him and instead focused on dialing the phone he held in his hand. The phone barely completed a full ring before it connected.

"Hello?"

Blaine didn't know why the sound of his mother's voice was so overwhelming, why it made him clench his fingers convulsively around the cellphone he held.

He opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason wasn't able to form any words.

"Hello?" his mother repeated in the silence. "Who—Blaine? Honey, is that you?"

His mother sounded frantic, but hopeful and Blaine's vision blurred as he mouthed silently into the receiver unable to find his voice.

"Blaine?"

He felt a small hand take his, saw Jessica looking up at him with a smile on her face and it was as if a dam broke and he spoke haltingly into the phone.

"Mom. Mom, I. _**Mom**_."

Blaine wasn't able to say anything else, but it was enough for Karen Anderson, who held onto every word her son uttered and cried in relief.

oOo

_~Trust your parents~_

Blaine wouldn't let the paramedics near him—had only allowed Mrs. Collins (Jessica's mother) to wrap a blue blanket around his shoulders while he waited for his parents to arrive.

He sat huddled on Mrs. Collins' park bench with her seated to his right. He shivered every so often, but refused to get into the ambulance or the police car that arrived shortly after he had spoken to his dad.

"Blaine?"

Blaine lifted his eyes and saw Officer Sanchez kneeling in front of him with his hands in plain sight.

It was due to years of experience that Carl Sanchez did not grimace at the vacant stare Blaine directed at him. Carl hated these cases—hated the fact that these sick perverts existed and that sometimes they just couldn't catch them in time to prevent a child from being hurt. "We've arrested Mr. Turner," he told Blaine.

Blaine stared at him blankly.

"The man who..."

"Oh," Blaine said, looking down at the grass again and pulling his blanket more closely around his shoulders. "Okay."

A beat of silence passed before Officer Sanchez spoke again. "Blaine?"

Blaine rubbed the bottom of his bare foot over his other foot. "...Yes?"

"Would it be all right if I cut those ropes off?" the officer asked voice plaintive, but steady.

Blaine stared at his wrists, his heart hammering in his chest as his father's words reverberating in his head.

_Son, you can trust the police officers there, okay? They're there to help you._

"Yes," Blaine said as he thrust his arms out. "_**Please**_."

oOo

_~Obey your parents~_

"You're going to be okay."

It was one of the first things his parents said to him. Even now Blaine couldn't recall the number of times he'd heard it since his parents arrived on that sunny, Friday afternoon, crying and holding onto Blaine in that park and not letting him out of their sights for months thereafter.

The doctors and the many therapists assured him the same as well, but it was hard to believe them when Blaine wanted nothing more than to hide in his parent's house forever—could not even convince himself to go outside to collect the mail from the mailbox at the end of their driveway, or have anyone who wasn't his parents touch him ever.

It was...hard. And he got so angry sometimes—so _**scared**_. And it didn't seem like it would _**ever**_ be okay.

Perhaps it was when he could sleep in his own bed and not the La-Z-Boy recliner; or when the nightmares decreased to about once a month; or when he felt okay going to the bookstore by himself without Kurt, or Wes, or all the Warblers; or when he didn't hyperventilate when someone on the street asked him for directions or bumped into him accidentally.

Only then did Blaine think that maybe, maybe he could start to believe them.

End

* * *

Continued in "If Wishes Were Fishes"


End file.
